


Chelsea Morning

by WednesdayGilfillian



Series: Chelsea Morning [1]
Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: Academic Erin, Alternate Universe, F/F, Mansplainer Phil, Meet-Cute, Tattoo Artist Holtz, Total Nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-10-01 14:16:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10191806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WednesdayGilfillian/pseuds/WednesdayGilfillian
Summary: Holtzmann takes a break from her doctorate studies due to stress and overwork (and maybe also a medium-to-large poof), and starts supporting herself as a tattoo artist. She likes the quiet mornings...and, particularly, 8:35.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, I had this ridiculous idea, and wanted to try my hand at a one-shot before getting back into 'If I Just Said Yes'...
> 
> The premise here is that Holtzmann takes a break from her doctorate studies due to stress and overwork (and probably also a medium-to-large poof), and starts supporting herself as a tattoo artist. Hear me out, guys...

These days, Holtzmann wakes without an alarm. Her change of lifestyle has been so complete – from overworked doctoral student to self-employed tattoo artist – that her habits have also changed. Well, some of them.

At any rate, it’s worth getting up when the reward is mornings like these. Mornings like a Joni Mitchell song – that _one_ happy one she wrote when she was younger. About sun and yellow curtains and butterscotch, or something.

She rolls off her futon, stretches, and pads downstairs in her underwear to make coffee. While it brews she’ll feed the chinchillas, take a quick shower, and dress for the day in whatever’s both stylish and clean.

Her shop’s a suntrap, and she sees no reason to keep her work space and living space separate. She unlocks early, pulls up the blinds, and sits back to watch the city come to life. If someone _really_ wants a tattoo at 8AM, she’ll just put down her coffee.

She’s living in a pleasant sort of limbo, and it can be easy to feel separate from the world – but she realizes now that it’s the start of a new semester. Her shop is out of the way, but a fair few students choose to park nearby and walk several blocks to the campus, rather than negotiate the busier streets. Holtzmann spots a few familiar faces already. She’s given them all names, these random students – though the chances that that guy is _really_ called Joe are probably fairly slim.

Then she spots an _un_ familiar face. And she’s sure about that, because she would have remembered. Doing the same walk down the length of the street, heading towards the campus, is a woman with shiny auburn hair. She’s wearing a beige skirt suit, and she’s somehow making it look good. Holtz perks up a little – not _all_ of her habits have changed.

When the woman comes up alongside the shop, she notices Holtzmann in the doorway. Holtz offers a silent, smiling nod. The woman nods back uncertainly – as though casual, friendly acknowledgement from strangers is a foreign language that she hopes she’s getting right. Holtz is immediately charmed, and amused. Watching her go, she smiles into her cup of coffee.

\--

It becomes a bit of a habit. A harmless amusement to help the morning go by. Holtz will be there, outside her shop or in the doorway, and at 8:35 without fail the redhead will come down the street. Holtz already has a favourite skirt suit, though really they’re all equally bad.

And as days pass, there are subtle changes. The woman smiles back, now. Shyly, but nonetheless.

She already liked these mornings, but 8:35 is quickly becoming Holtz’s favourite time of day.

\--

It’s 8:42, and there’s no sign. There’s Joe and Jemima and the guy with the sax, but the auburn-haired woman is nowhere to be seen. (Holtz hasn’t made her up a name – she wants to know her real one.)

Trying not to notice how disproportionately disappointed she’s feeling, Holtz stumps back inside to rinse out her coffee mug. But it’s a gorgeous day out and there’s not much else to do, and besides somehow she’s still hopeful, so she steps back out onto the street – only to be nearly bowled over by tweed and red hair.

A collision is only just averted – Holtzmann steadies her with a hand at the elbow.  
“Woah, there!”  
The redhead gasps, one hand flying to her heart, and they both take a second to recover and untangle themselves.

Holtz can’t quite help herself.

“We have to stop meeting like this.”  
“What?”  
The woman looks bewildered, which only amuses Holtz further. She changes tack.  
“You’re late.”  
“…I know?”  
Aaand more bewildered still. _She’s too cute._

“Better get on your way, then. Lovely to talk to you, however briefly. Have a nice day, Ms…?”  
“Oh! Erin. Dr. Erin Gilbert. Who is definitely going to be late. Um, bye!”

And she’s off, hair bouncing on her tweed-clad shoulders. Holtzmann grins after her.

\--

Something is wrong with Holtzmann’s coffee this morning. It’s possible that the machine is on the fritz. She’s frowning down into its murky depths when a man’s voice draws her attention.

“Well actually, you may _think_ it’s more efficient to park this side of campus, but when you take into consideration…”

Holtzmann’s face is already failing to hide her disgust at this preening mansplainer – and that’s _before_ she realizes that the poor woman being pulled along in his wake is red-haired and skirt-suited and Dr. Erin Gilbert.

Whoever this jerk is, he’s given her his arm but he’s walking so fast that she’s struggling to keep up in those little heels, and he doesn’t seem to notice or care. He’s not even _looking at her_ , and she’s done her hair extra pretty today. Probably for him.

When they pass the shop, Erin gives her a quick glance and a smile that isn’t really a smile. And then they’re gone.

Holtz pours the rest of her coffee down the drain.

\--

It’s evening, and Holtz is closing up shop – a little early, really. She’s had a reasonable day’s custom, but she can’t bring herself to care. It’s been weeks since Erin Gilbert has walked past her shop – and that _shouldn’t_ matter, but her moods seem to indicate that it does.

Probably that asshole has talked her into parking somewhere more ‘efficient’.

Holtzmann’s flicking listlessly through a folder of designs, hoping against hope for inspiration, when there’s a knock on the open door. She looks up, and almost drops the folder.

Dr. Erin Gilbert is standing in the doorway, but there’s no tweed in sight. She’s all dolled up in a little black dress and her hair is sort of different and her eye makeup is just a little smudged and all in all the effect is…well, stunning.

“Are you still open?”  
“Uhm, yes. Yes.”  
“ _I’d_ like a tat _too_.”

It dawns on Holtz that Erin is leaning in the doorway like that not because it’s attractive (although it definitely _is_ ), but because she’s a fair way from sober. She’s drunk, and she has come here.

“You would…? Well, uh, we could book a consultation to talk over designs, et cetera…but I don’t have any spaces free till early next week.”  
Erin scrunches up her face in protest. “Don’t need a consultation, I know what I want. Just words, nothing…nothing fancy. Just the words ‘Phil’s a douche’.”  
Holtzmann gapes, but Erin doesn’t notice, instead seeming to consider for a moment and then adding, “Actually, no, ‘Phil _is_ a douche’. I need all the individual words.”

This shouldn’t be knocking Holtzmann sideways so much. As a tattoo artist in a student area, she’s very used to people coming in on dares, people coming in drunk…and she has a policy on that. She’ll always try to dissuade them. Offer them a booking at a later date. It’s just that the impulsive, intoxicated potential-customer isn’t usually a very attractive lady Holtzmann’s been crushing on for weeks.

Erin draws the correct conclusion from her silence.  
“You think I’m drunk. I’m not drunk.”  
She takes a few steps forward, and it doesn’t help her case. Holtz takes her by the elbow and guides her to sit.

“It’s Erin, isn’t it?” Holtz begins (as though she’s even slightly unsure). Erin nods.  
“We haven’t really met properly. I’m Holtzmann. You can call me Holtz.”  
She’s apparently incapable of introducing herself to a pretty lady without flirting just a _little_ – even under these circumstances – and Erin smiles back.

“Now, I was just about to close up shop, and I meant what I said – I really don’t have any spaces till next week. But just for now I could do you a temporary version, real quick, to see if you like it. You know, a temporary tattoo.”  
“I’m not six.”  
She’s adorably belligerent, and Holtzmann’s trying hard not to smile.  
“I’ve noticed. But lots of people, including big grizzled bikers, like to test out design and placement before committing anything to ink.”  
That’s sort of a lie, but Miss Tweed Suit here won’t know any better.

Erin’s shoulders slump a little.  
“Alright, I guess. But just so you know, I’m _not drunk_.”  
Holtz turns away, smiling, to find the temporary tattoo kit she keeps on hand to entertain her niece and nephews.  
“Really, I’m not. I can prove it. If I was drunk, I wouldn’t remember all the lyrics to the Elements Song.”  
“By Tom Lehrer?”  
Erin’s eyes widen comically.  
“You know Tom Lehrer? No one knows Tom Lehrer! Except for tweedy academics. We’re actually _required_ to know that song, by _law_.”  
Holtz chokes back a laugh.  
“That so? Well, my Grampa was a fan.”  
“Your Grampa? Oh my God, you’re so _young_. You have perfect skin. But you seem very nice and you always smile hello, so I won’t hold it against you.”  
“Well, thanks.”

Holtz smiles down at the special adhesive paper, and prepares to write ‘Phil is a douche’ in her very best cursive. It’s a worthy phrase, if ever there was one.

“So, is that your party trick? The Elements Song?”  
Erin frowns. “It’s s’posed to be. But I don’t seem to get invited to many parties.”  
“Their loss.”  
“Thank you. You’re nice. Have I said that? Anyway, since I’m sober, I can sing the whole song. Shall I sing it? I’ll sing it.”  
She sits up a little straighter, smoothing down her dress.

“ _There’s antimony, arsenic, aluminium, selenium,_  
_and hydrogen and oxygen and nitrogen and rhenium,_  
_and nickel, neodymium, neptunium, germanium,_  
_and iron, americium, ruthenium, uranium…”_

Holtz can’t help it; she knows she’s practically looking at Erin with heart-eyes. But really, she’s not sure she’s ever seen anything more adorable than this woman, tipsily reeling off the song with such determination, and nodding her head on every beat. She doesn’t stumble over any of the words, either.

“ _These are the only ones of which the news has come to Harvard  
And there may be many others but they haven’t been disc-arvard!_ ”

She finishes with finger guns, and then starts giggling. Holtz laughs and applauds, and Erin looks very pleased with herself. Looking down at the tattoo she’s designed, Holtz takes a moment to underline ‘Phil is a douche’ – just to emphasize her own complete agreement with the sentiment. What kind of ungrateful idiot would dump a woman like _this_?

“That was... _very_ impressive. Whadya think of this?”  
She holds up the adhesive paper, and Erin inspects the design.  
“Ohh, _yes_ , that’s perfect. You have very nice handwriting.”  
“Thanks, it’s kind of my job. Now, where were you wanting this?”

Erin is silent for a moment, and then Holtzmann realizes she’s blushing.  
“Well, I was thinking sort of…”  
She runs her fingers over the material of her dress, just above her hip bone. Holtzmann swallows.  
“But then I should’ve come here in jeans, so you could just…I didn’t really think this through.”

Holtz finds herself all too eager to rid her client of this misconception.  
“Oh, well, that’s not a problem. I’m a professional. I’ve, uh, seen a lot of underwear in my time, believe me.”  
_What are you doing stop_  
“Oh. Well.” Erin considers. “And it’s temporary, so it’ll be really quick, right?”  
“Right.”

Without further ado – presumably emboldened by the alcohol still coursing through her veins – Erin sits herself up on the padded table, raises her hips, and hitches up her skirt. Holtz takes a long, steadying breath.

_I am a professional, I am a professional, I am a profess...Oh fucking hell._

She’s wearing black lacy underwear that Holtzmann can only imagine is part of a set. And God, those legs. Holtzmann’s seen a lot of legs, in her profession, but God _damn_ …

_Don’t be a creep, Holtzmann. Jeez._

“Uhh, right I’ll just need to dampen this and then… Uh, which hip?”  
“Left, please, _Holtz_. That’s a funny name. A nice one, I mean. Sorry, I’m an idiot.”  
“I don’t think they employ idiots at the university. With the exception of that Phil guy, of course.”

Erin snorts, and Holtz is very pleased with herself. She presses the damp paper against the skin just above the black lacy waistband, trying not to wonder how that might feel without paper in the way.  
“Right, if you could just hold that there for me – just press it down – for about thirty seconds or so? That oughta do it.”

Holtz turns and busies herself tidying away the tattoo kit. The longer she can keep her eyes averted, the better.

“What do I owe you for this?”  
“Oh,” Holtz is surprised, and looks back over her shoulder before she can stop herself, “don’t – don’t worry about that. This is on me. I’ll charge you if you come back to get the real thing done.”  
“That doesn’t seem fair. But okay.”  
Holtz smiles, chewing her lip. God, she’s such an adorable drunk. Who would’ve known, from those tweedy skirt suits?

“Right, that should be ready. Let’s just peel it off…”  
It’s come out very well, clear and legible. Holtz holds up a little mirror, and Erin starts to laugh.  
“That’s _perfect_. Thank you so much!”  
She slips off the table and her skirt falls to her knees again, and Holtz scolds herself for being disappointed.

“Well, that’s that. I, uh, I’ll give you my card, just in case you do wanna book an appointment.”  
Thinking ahead to the Erin Gilbert that will be waking up horribly hungover the next morning, Holtzmann surreptitiously scrawls a note on the back.

_Just in case you’ve forgotten – the tattoo on your hip is temporary._  
_It was a pleasure doing business with you._  
_Holtz x_

She hands Erin the card, face upwards so she can’t see the note for tomorrow-Erin. She pockets it, and gives Holtz a disarmingly sweet smile.  
“This was…exactly what I needed. Thanks for putting up with me.”  
“Hey, it wasn’t exactly a stretch. You’re, uh, pretty neat.”  
_‘Pretty neat’, Holtzmann? Really?!_

She’s still internally berating herself when Erin suddenly kisses the corner of her mouth. Probably she was aiming for her cheek, but still… Holtz can feel her eyes going wide. Erin giggles at her stunned expression and steps away, much steadier on her feet than she was before.

“Night, Holtz.”  
“Night, Erin. Get home safe.”

She waves over her shoulder as she walks away.

\--

The next day’s a Saturday, so Holtzmann doesn’t get out of bed in any rush. Still, eventually the urge for coffee overpowers the desire to stay between the sheets, so she gets up and heads downstairs. While the coffee brews, her thoughts stray to Erin.

Holtz is leaning in the doorway, sipping her coffee and watching some kids drawing chalk-art on the sidewalk, when she turns her head. She recognizes Erin immediately, but even so she has barely a few moments to prepare herself.

Dr. Gilbert looks…well, like she had a rough night. But she’s still pretty as hell, especially in casual weekend clothes. Holtz’s heart sinks, though, to see the bunch of flowers in her hands. Has that Phil guy made some grand apology, and got her back?

“Um, Holtz? Hi. Good morning.”  
She’s so adorably awkward.

“Erin, hi. How’s the morning treating you?” She grimaces, and Holtz can’t help but chuckle. “I thought that might be the way.”  
Erin looks down at the flowers in her hands.  
“I…I just wanted to apologize, for whatever I put you through last night. I don’t normally get…like that…and I’m really sorry you were the one to see it.”

She looks mortified, and Holtz’s heart goes out to her.

“Hey, please don’t worry. It wasn’t my worst Friday night.”  
She winks, and Erin flusters.

“Well, I just wanted to give you these…”  
She thrusts the flowers forward – daisies artfully wrapped in brown paper. Holtz blinks.  
“And, I don't know, maybe to make it up to you I could…buy you a drink sometime? Or, dinner, or…something?”  
She’s blushing. She is _totally_ blushing, and Holtzmann is entranced.

She’s thrilled and astounded, but nonetheless still manages to tease.  
“Will you sing me the Elements Song again?”  
“I did that?” Erin’s expression goes straight from blind horror to cringing remembrance. “Oh God, I _did_ that…”  
Holtz grins. “It was cute.”

“Well, I have to go and die now, so…”  
Holtz laughs in warm empathy and grabs her hand.  
“Call me? My number’s on that card I gave you. Maybe tomorrow, when you’ve caught up on some sleep, we could go for brunch…”

Erin looks down at their hands, and then smiles up at her as though other feelings might be overcoming her embarrassment.  
“That sounds…great, actually. Alright, well, yeah, I’d better go.”  
Holtz lets go of her hand, hoping it’s not obvious _quite_ how pleased she is with this turn of events. (It probably is, though.)  
“See ya, Erin.”

As she’s walking away, the redhead turns to smile over her shoulder.  
“Oh, and Holtz? I love the tattoo.”

**Author's Note:**

> Was it ridiculous? (Well, clearly - but was it *too* ridiculous?)
> 
> And in case you haven't heard either  
> [The Elements Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bfrv8Y9746g)  
> or  
> [Chelsea Morning by Joni Mitchell](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F_y7O06z77Q)  
> well, there ya go.
> 
> Also: as of this week, I'm on Tumblr! Come and say hello? (wednesdaygilfillian)


End file.
